The morning sun was trapped behind dense dark clouds, hiding its blazing splendor.
The sky's gloom added to the dread of brusselie's inhabitants.
Calls, mails and flying pigeons filled tge blood wing mansion, giving Damian no space to breathe.
The lazy haze clouding his features had long since been replaced by cold eyes and A few white strands in his black hair.
Damian sat behind his dark wood table, coat discarded, sleeves rolled up, a sheet of paper caught between his finger tips, fated to join its brethren as ash lying atop the desk.
Nairel stood behind his boss bearing the brunt of Damian's bloodlust.
"That little witch really has steel guts", Damian cursed.
"They're persistent," Nairel said calmly.
He walked slowly to the window overlooking the dark forest beside the mansion. silver-white hair tied at his neck, skin faintly blue in the morning light. Ice fae rarely concerned themselves with the outside world, but his clan had always allied with blood wing. His cold eyes rarely shaken by the affairs of the world, now showed a faint tinge of concern. Being who he was, he knew why.
"Persistent is polite," Damian muttered, breaking Nairel from his own thoughts. "They're circling."
A stack of letters lay open on the desk. All bore the marks of council houses.
Clarify the witch's statement.
Explain the anomaly.
Confirm the child's status.
He crushed the ash into the tray.
"They want me to admit to this nonsense without proof ." Damian said "To doubt my daughter is to doubt blood wing, they really want to piss me off."
Nairel folded his hands behind his back. "They smelled weakness."
"I showed none." he replied.
"You care," Nairel replied simply. "That is enough."
Damian leaned back in his chair, eyes dark.
"She is sixteen," he said. "Still a child."
"In age," Nairel said gently, a rare smile tugged at his lips.
Damian shot him a look.
"I meant nothing else."
Silence stretched.
Then Nairel added, quieter, "The witch was fishing. She had no proof."
"I know."
"And yet?"
Damian did not answer. With a deep sigh, he stood. "She should be awake by now."
*********
Raven was halfway down the east corridor when she saw him.
She froze, then turned around attempting to flee. Too late.
"Raven."
She sighed and faced him. Long black hair loose down her back, deep dark eyes adorned her small face, training clothes still on, boots half unlaced.
"Yes, Father."
He crossed the hall in three steps. Standing straight in front of his 'little' daughter, he reached to pat her head.
"You missed breakfast"
"I was going to eat later." she responded shifting her head from the path of his wide palm.
"You say that every time", he added with a sulking tinge in his voice.
"I'm sixteen," she said pretending not to notice his visible sadness at her action, "Not six."
He frowned. "Sixteen is still young."
She crossed her arms. "You didn't even let me walk to the library alone yesterday."
"There were reports of—" trying to find an excuse for his over protectiveness
"Of everything," she cut in.
Servants quietly vanished down side halls.
Damian softened his tone. "The world is unstable."
"So is my life," she replied.
He blinked.
That was new.
"You used to like when I walked you everywhere," he said.
She looked away. "I was smaller."
He reached out, brushed non existent dust from her shoulder .
"Raven…" he said this time pleading in his tone.
"I love you," she said quickly. "But I need space."
The words hit harder than any blade.
He nodded slowly with hints of defiance and obvious acquiescence.
"I will try."
She relaxed a little. "Thank you."
Then she hesitated.
"…Can I go to the gardens?"
He almost said no, his jaw tightening.
"Yes," he said instead. "But stay near the central paths."
She smiled, quick and bright, and left before he could change his mind.
Damian watched until she turned the corner.
Something in his chest twisted.
Nairel imperceptibly let out a chuckle, his eyes curving.
Damian froze, his eyes narrowing at his suspicious secretary who was showing more facial expressions today than ever in the century he has served at his side.
********
The gardens were quiet, with nothing but the sound of leaves swaying in the eerie breeze.
The birds had stopped singing their melodies. The garden felt cold.
The tall black trees surrounding the gardens stood in perfect rows. Red flowers slept, heads bowed under their shade.
Raven walked slowly, hands behind her back.
She liked this place when the sun shone, the flowers bloomed proud under the shade of the tall trees, it made her feel… unseen, but unease pricked at her heart as her eyes viewed the barren gloom flaunting its authority over nature's children. She moved her long legs down the paths, her heart pounding in response to her heavy steps.
Halfway down the third path, the shadows moved wrong. They bent like puppets attached to an unseen thread. Her steps halting, she watched as the shadows bent towards her. Her heart pounding, her blood boiling in response.
"Hello?" she called. No response but the shadows thickened near the roots of an old tree then peeled away from it.
A blurry shape stood before, its red eyes the only things she could clearly make out.
Raven did not scream though she should have, instead, her heart slowed.
"…Are you lost?" she asked.
The shadow tilted its head.
Its voice did not come from its mouth.
It came from everywhere.
"Not anymore."
She stepped back once.
"Are you a ghost?"
A pause.
"No."
"A monster?"
Another pause.
"Not to you."
Her pulse finally jumped.
"You shouldn't be here."
"Neither should you," it said.
She frowned. "This is my home."
The shadow studied her, carefully.
Then it stepped back into the tree's darkness.
Before vanishing, it spoke again.
"We will meet again, little flame."
The garden returned to 'normal'. The leaves resumed their monotonous swaying.
Raven stood alone again, her hands trembling, the excitement in her blood yet to subside.
Far above, in the north tower, the ancient wards stirred.
And deep beneath the world of Brusselie, something vast turned in its sleep, the flame of brusselie flickering again.